Sanguine
by Terminal Nostalgia
Summary: It really shouldn't have come as a surprise that is was the enemy Sniper who was the first to realise that something was really wrong. It was his job to watch out for the Spy after all. Except this was one time when his careful vigilance would get him into a whole world of trouble, not out of it.
1. There's Something Really Wrong Here

**If any old housemates decide to read this... eh, I got nothing.**

Of his own team, it was only the Demoman who noticed something was wrong. As they all waited in the resupply room for the day's fighting to begin he took a good long look at the Spy, and then said, 'You all right there, lad? Yer looking a little peaky.'

The Spy just waved him away with a muttered, 'Didn't sleep much last night.' Which was true. A grin spread across the Scotman's face and he gave the Spy what was probably meant to be a friendly wink, though it was hard to tell with a man with just one eye. And that was it. Nobody else on his team noticed anything off with him at all. Not even the Medic.

Demoman's lewd assumptions were correct, the Spy had been rather preoccupied that night by a strikingly beautiful stranger he'd bumped into in town. At least, he thought she must have been pretty... She'd looked-looked like- just beautiful. He was sure. He just couldn't remember. Apart from her blue eyes. The brightest blue eyes. Shining impossibly bright in that darkened hotel room. Such wonderful eyes. The type you could get yourself lost in for centuries. Filling his vision. Mesmerising. The brightest blue eyes.

They'd made love all night long. Or at least, they'd done something. Must have done, to leave him feeling so tired and drained. Not to mention, stiff-limbed and bruised. Yes, she'd sure been a wild one, that lady with the bright blue eyes. The Spy just wished he could remember more, that was all. He must have had too much to drink. That was the most likely explanation for his fragmented memories. Except, that just wasn't the Spy's style. And he knew from personal experience that that amount of alcohol certainly wasn't good for his performance in the bedroom. Then again, it'd explain his awful headache, as well as why he'd woken up alone. The pretty stranger probably wouldn't have wanted to risk sticking around for another disappointment. It was very embarrassing to think about.

But they must have managed _something_ that night. He wouldn't have ended up with bruises and bites otherwise. Hell, things must have got pretty heated if the blood on his neck was anything to go by. The Spy wouldn't have let anybody bite him that hard if he hadn't been _really_ into it at the time.

Whatever had happened last night was of no lasting importance. Once he'd returned to the base, the masked agent had done his best to try and focus on the coming match. A distracted spy was a dead spy, and he wasn't going to allow a little thing like a drunken one night stand get in the way of him doing his job properly. That'd be unprofessional.

The problem was though, he seemed to have caught a cold the night before. Or maybe the flu. It was just unfortunate timing really. It made concentrating on anything even more difficult than last night's muddled memories. The Spy's head just wouldn't stop spinning, his throat felt like sandpaper and his joints ached. Even his jaw hurt, though he had no idea why that should be. But none of that was anything as bad as the heat. It was like someone had replaced the blood in his veins with molten magma. He burned. Everything burned. The Spy was sure the only thing stopping his tight-fitting mask from catching fire was the sweat beading under it.

The Frenchman tugged at the neck of his suit as waited for the grills to slide open and release them out into the first match of the day. When they finally did, he let the rest of the team charge out in front of them. It was only sensible. He didn't want to get in the way of the gunfire. And he was only cloaking because that was the most tactically sound thing to do, not because it was his only way of hiding how weak he was feeling. Slowly, the Spy staggered out of the resupply room. It looked like today was going to be difficult. He wasn't sure how he'd manage to get anybody with his Ambassador if he couldn't stop shaking.

Really, he'd been hoping that his first trip through respawn would clear up whatever was wrong with him. Or maybe the second. Or third. Or fourth. Or fifth. By the time he stumbled out on to the battlefield for the sixth time with no kills to his name, the Spy decided to just go after an easy target. One he would probably be all alone, not moving, and completely unaware of his approach. Yes. He could do that. Even in this state the Spy was sure he could manage an easy back stab on the Sniper.

That wasn't quite how things ended up going.

Despite everything, the Spy managed to sneak up on his target without the RED Sniper noticing. It was just the back stabbing bit that went wrong. As he lifted his arm up to strike the killing blow, his vision began to waver. With it went his sense of balance, and his knife went clattering to the ground as the Spy tried his best to not follow it.

The odd noise startled the Sniper, causing him to swear and accidentally pull the trigger on his rifle. He spun around, the now empty weapon clutched in his hands like a club. He was fully prepared to use it to smash the head in of whoever was behind him, but stopped when he saw the Spy. The BLU was leaning heavily against a nearby wall, his skinny legs visibly shaking as he tried to keep himself up right. Though usually pale anyway, what little of his skin could be seen was corpse white and sweat had soaked through the brow of his mask. His knife lay at the floor by the Sniper's feet, but he made no attempt to reach it, or to get away. Even his expression was off, pained looking, rather than sneering, as it usually was when he came face to face with the Australian. There was an odd look to his eyes too that the marksman couldn't place. They looked glazed, but too bright. Shiny almost, like the Spy was on the verge of tears.

It was... odd, seeing the man like this. Unsettling almost. Spies were supposed to keep everything about themselves hidden, including weaknesses. This wasn't like his enemy at all.

'God. You look like shit, mate.'

The BLU's lips twitched into the ghost of a grimace.

'Yeah. Feel like it too,' he agreed hoarsely.

The Sniper's eyes flicked up and down the Spy's body in search of injury. There was none he could see, and no blood on the floor. It felt odd just standing and talking to the enemy, but the Australian was curious now.

'What the hell's wrong with you then?

'Don't know. Ill.'

The marksman pulled a face.

'Then you can go right back to respawn and stay there! I don't want to catch nothing off you!'

Usually this was the point at which the Spy would mock his accent and poor grammar, generally while trying to stab him. Instead the BLU just tried to straighten up. Talking took up too much energy. If he couldn't outrun the Sniper, then he'd face his next death with as much dignity as he could. Instead, the Frenchman found himself starting to slip down the wall. He glared down at his legs, silently ordering them to take his weight. He slide a little further down.

The floorboards creaked and he looked up to find the Sniper approaching him. The Spy had expected to see him with his kukri drawn or SMG levelled, but though his right hand rested lightly on his knife's handle, he didn't pull it out of its sheaf.

There was a look of wariness on the Australians face. The masked man was used to seeing that expression, along with fear, anger and hatred. But there was something else there now as well. Worry? Pity? It was hard to tell. Whatever it was, the Spy didn't appreciate it. He was a dangerous assassin, not a wounded animal! He didn't need an enemy worrying about him, and he certainly didn't need the Sniper's pity.

'Now. I'll send you back to respawn, and you stay there until your Medic gets dragged through, right? No point you being out here on the field and I'm sure your doctor would want to know if there's a virus or something going around.'

His voice was soft, calm. The Spy hated it. He wanted to attack the Sniper. Wanted to remind him that they were enemies and it didn't matter what the RED said or did, the Spy would always want to kill him.

He didn't have the energy to attack. He didn't even have the energy to say something unpleasant. Or to hold on to his anger. It drained away as quickly as it had come, leaving the Spy feeling even weaker than before. It was also getting harder and harder to push out the pain. This had to be the flu, no common cold would make his joints ache, his head pound and his skin burn like this did.

A strangled little noise escaped him, one that was far too close to a whimper for him to stand. Pathetic. He was being pathetic. And in front of the enemy Sniper no less. This was humiliating.

The RED took another step closer to the Spy, his kukri still sheaved at his side. His hands were held up in front of him in a careful, pacifying manner.

'Don't. Don't you-just-stay away.'

'Hey now, gonna make this quick and clean. It's better than you trying to stagger off by yourself, trust me.'

The Spy shook his head, dark spots blurring his vision as he did so.

'No. No, just stay away.'

The Sniper was too close. Having a member of the opposite team this close was never a good thing, unless their back was turned to him. This time though, it was even worse. Something about the Australian's proximity to him made the Spy feel hotter than ever. He couldn't really explain why, but he felt like if the Sniper touched him now, one of them would get burnt. He just wasn't sure who it'd be.

 **The next chapters are two completely different, alternative endings to this fic as I couldn't decide which direction I wanted to take it in most.**


	2. Spy's Mercy

The Sniper put one calming hand on the Spy's shoulder while reaching for his kukri. The Spy couldn't stand it. He felt like his skin was being scorched through his suit.

'Damn, that's an impressive temperature you've got.'

The BLU wanted to make a break for it, wanted to just try and run though he knew he'd never make it out of the room. The Spy forced himself away from the wall and attempted to stand unaided. Instead he lost his balance and found himself falling forwards towards the Sniper, who instinctively caught him. The Australian almost gutted the Spy while trying to grab him, but moved his knife out of the way just in time. It would have been better for him if he hadn't.

It was awkward, trying to keep the Spy upright. He could only use one hand, so he had to hold the man to his chest to steady him. The whole holding an enemy in his arms thing was pretty damn awkward too. The Sniper wasn't a fan of physical contact under any circumstance, so having a man he hated and feared clinging to his vest was not a welcome development. It made the marksman's skin crawl, and he had a hard time stopping himself from shoving the Spy away from himself.

'Oh, fuck. Um, how about we just...' He tried to work out what the best move would be. 'Uh, put you down on the floor, careful like?' The Spy's forehead was pressed against his chest, and even through three layers of clothing and the BLU's mask, the Sniper could feel the heat radiating off of him. The Spy shook his head, leaving the Australian at a loss for what to do next. The grip on his vest was getting tighter and tighter. The Sniper assumed it was only because the Spy was struggling to keep himself upright, but it still made him uncomfortable. He wouldn't put it past his enemy to use this situation to his advantage somehow, even in this state.

'Look- just. Just let go of me, all right?'

The Spy only held on tighter.

'Get off!'

'Sorry,' the Spy whispered, in a voice so low and hoarse it was barely audible.

Now there was a first. Sniper was probably the first person on either team to have actually got an _apology_ from a Spy. It was really kind of awkward, actually.

'Umm. That's okay, I'm uh, sure the creases will iron out...'

'No,' the BLU muttered, 'not for that.'

The Sniper tensed. This was the bit when the Spy revealed that he'd been faking it all along and then backstabbed him.

Except, that wasn't quite what happened.

Instead the masked man slowly raised his head and looked straight up at the Sniper. His expression was unreadable. He looked terrible, his skin pale and clammy, dark bags under his eyes, and-his eyes. They were like silver. How had the Sniper never noticed before? Sure, he wasn't in the habit of staring lovingly into the eyes of other mercenaries, but still... how could such an observant man as he have missed those eyes? They filled his vision. Mesmerising. The brightest silver eyes.

'I'm sorry,' the Spy said again, 'I'm sorry.'

Now his tight grip on the Sniper's clothes weren't there to just keep him on his feet anymore, they were to keep the RED in place.

Panic sparked in the back of the Sniper's mind, his fight or flight instincts screaming at him to either start punching or start running, _right now._ Except he couldn't. Even when the Spy tilted his head away, the ghostly after image of his eyes was branded into the Sniper's mind and he found himself unable to do anything but blink. Except every time he closed his eyes, the silver glow was waiting for him just behind his eyelids, clearer than ever.

'I'm sorry.' This time the words were breathed against his throat. The Sniper shuddered and grimaced. The Spy was the last person he wanted anywhere near his neck. Sometimes, when the Australian had been dominating him the day before, the Spy would bring a garotte onto the battlefield. It was such a simple little thing, just a length of flexible wire between two polished wooden handle. But those deaths... those deaths were the worst. A thin strip of steel wrapped around his neck, cutting, chocking. Raw, unadulterated panic. Fingers frantically scrabbling for a hold. The Spy's elbows digging into his back as the Sniper did everything he could to try and throw the man off. But it never helped.

It must have been a scarce few minutes before he died each time but it was amazing how each one could stretch out to feel like years while he desperately struggled to breath. Then the next thing he'd know would be the sterile white lights of the resupply room, and a tight feeling across his throat that would linger all day.

This time though, what he felt was something sharp scratch against his throat, and a second later, a stab of pain. The Sniper yelped in shock, jolting himself out of the trance-like state he's been in. His first thought was that the Spy had got him with his knife. It'd be just like him to try and lure the Sniper in close enough to shove a blade into the side of his neck. Except he'd seen the butterfly knife go clattering to the floor...and unless the Spy was holding another blade between his teeth, the RED really couldn't see how he could have managed that at all...

The second thought was, _'run!'_ as his brain ground back into gear. He immediately tried to pull away from the Spy. Or at least, he meant to. But the panicked signals firing off from his brain didn't seem to be reaching any of his limbs.

'What the-what the fuck? What are you doing?'

Usually the Sniper did his best to keep fear out of his voice, especially around the enemy Spy. But this situation... it was too strange. Too surreal. Too painful. Too _wrong_. He couldn't help it.

The BLU pulled away from his neck, taking whatever he'd used to injure the Sniper with him. Now the only thing shaky about him seemed to be his breathing as he let go of the marksman's vest and wrapped his arms around the RED. Being hugged by Death himself wouldn't have felt any less ominous to the Sniper.

The wound on his neck was bleeding profusely; the sharpshooter could feel dampness spreading down his throat to his chest. Whatever the Spy had stabbed him with, it seemed to be poisonous. Not only did his body fell frozen in place, but there was also an unpleasantly hot feeling radiating under his skin.

'I'm sorry,' the Spy repeated. 'I have to.'

Then he tightened his hold on the Sniper and clamped his jaw down over the first injury. Razor-sharp teeth cut into the RED's flesh, anchoring his mouth in place.

The Sniper made a strangled sound in the back of his throat. Then the tugging, pulling sensation began. There was nothing he could do. Inside he was screaming at his right arm to just lift his kukri and stab it into the Spy's back. Instead, he felt the handle slip from his numb fingers and heard the knife go clattering to the ground. The Spy flinched at the sound, and clutched the Sniper closer to him.

His breath was coming out in short, ragged bursts, accompanied by little whimpers of pain. Everything about this situation was impossible and horrible. Something straight out of a nightmare. Except even the worst of dreams could never hurt him like this.

'Stop it. Oh god. Please, please, please, stop it!' The Sniper was a proud man. No matter how bad things got, no matter how badly he was injured or which BLU had him cornered, he'd never once begged for mercy. Not until now.

Briefly, the Spy's arms tightened around him again in the gross parody of a reassuring hug. It could have been a silent apology. It could have been an expression of triumph. It could have been mockery. The Sniper had no way of knowing which.

By now he was the one that was shaking uncontrollably, and it was the Spy who was having to keep him upright. Whatever debilitating weakness that had effected the masked man earlier was gone now though. Even if he'd been able to move, chances were he would have been unable to escape the Spy's grip.

The Sniper began to feel a though the whole world was being swept away from him. Or as though someone was painting over the scene one brush stroke at a time, slowly reducing everything around him to darkness.

Then he felt himself being released and the cold floorboards rushed up to meet him as his legs gave way beneath him. Numb with shock and pain and blood loss, all the Sniper could manage to do was lay there. He wanted to clap a hand over his neck to stem the bleeding. He wanted to get up. He wanted to run a thousand miles away and never look back. He wanted to stab that masked BLU son of a bitch million times over. He wanted to world to stop spinning. He wanted to stop feeling so damn hot.

But all he could do was stare up at the high ceiling above him and try to keep breathing.

The Spy staggered back until he reached a wall and then slowly slid down it to the floor. Normally he'd avoid these dusty, dirty corners like the plague, but at the moment it really didn't seem to matter. His clothes were already ruined. The Sniper had got a _lot_ of blood on his suit. And down his throat. The Spy lit a cigarette that tasted like copper and stared at the limp form of his nemesis. The Australian was still breathing. The wet, ragged sound filled the room. The fighting beyond it had long moved on, with the odd, distant explosions being the only sign that the round was still going on.

The Spy had a lot to think about. An uncertain future yawned before him like a chasm, with only a meagre hope of questions to his many answers. The 'V' word presented itself, and he pushed it away. No. This was all just... impossible. It couldn't be true. Yet there lay the Sniper, puncture wounds at his neck. And here sat the Spy, covered in his enemy's blood, clenching a cigarette behind one wickedly sharp and elongated canine tooth.

He had to decide what to do with the Sniper. No matter his decision, the future was going to be a whole lot more complicated from now on. He pulled himself to his feet with ease, all the aches and pains of that morning forgotten. He felt good as new. Better than new. Fantastic. The whole world around him seemed to be in high definition. The sights, the smells, the sounds, everything was sharper than ever before.

The Spy scooped up his butterfly knife and crouched down on his haunches next to the Sniper. The poor man didn't even seem to register the BLU's presence, he just kept on staring fixedly at the ceiling through those dreadful aviators of his.

There were two options here. He could leave the Sniper alive, or kill him. If he left him, chances were the marksman's death would be slow enough that by the time respawn finally claimed him, the effects of what had happened would become permanent. He'd feel like hell on earth until someone got too close and he couldn't resist the bite, then he'd end up as a- as, something like the Spy. No. That option wouldn't do.

'I'm sorry.' the Spy murmured one last time. The RED seemed to notice him then, his blank gaze settling on to the creature beside him. Usually the Spy would have enjoyed seeing his enemy looking so weak and defeated, but now it just left him feeling sick.

Without another word, he wrenched back the Sniper's jaw and slit his throat in one swift movement. He made sure to cut deep into the neck and sever one of the main arteries. It was amazing how long people could take to chock to death on their own blood otherwise.

Killing the Sniper had been the merciful thing to do. The Spy kept telling himself that. Chances were he'd sent the man through respawn quick enough that all traces of the damage he'd done would be removed. The Sniper would stay human. He wouldn't have to go through the shaking and the pain and the headaches and the temperatures. He wouldn't have to become a danger to everybody around him, team mates included. The Spy had saved him from all of that.

He ignored the nagging little voice in the back of his head that told him he just hadn't wanted to have any competition from another predator.

There was another thought that was harder to ignore though. He could buy the Sniper's silence with promises not to hurt the other REDs. And he could persuade the man to let the Spy bite him again with threats against them. The Sniper was so sickeningly protective when it came to the rest of his team...

But of course it wasn't about that. It was about mercy. The Spy wasn't the bad guy here, he was the original victim after all! He hadn't asked for any of this! He'd never wanted any of this to happen!

The monster known to those around him only as the BLU Spy slunk out of the room, his mind spinning with arguments protesting his own innocence.


	3. Sniper's Mercy

_Well this ended up being over a week later than intended, but real life has kept me busy. Sorry about that! In my usual style, this also ended up being a lot lengthier than originally planned. You'd think by now I'd be used to my chapters turning out far longer than expected._

 _Quick reminder that this is an entirely different ending from the other one, and continues on where chapter one leaves off._

The Sniper put one calming hand on the Spy's shoulder while reaching for his kukri. The Spy couldn't stand it. He felt like his skin was being scorched through his suit.

'Damn, that's an impressive temperature you've got. Almost like-'

The Sniper snatched his hand away as though scalded.

'Shit.'

There was something in that curse. Fear? Horror? Realisation? The Spy couldn't tell. He couldn't even keep himself upright anymore. Slowly he sank down against the wall until he reached the dusty floor. The Sniper loomed over him, staring down at the BLU, his kukri halfway out of its sheaf.

'Fuck. No, I'm probably wrong. Yeah. It can't be. Well, it better fucking not be...' the marksman muttered to himself.

The Spy scowled. He had no idea what the Sniper was babbling on about but it wasn't reassuring. The last thing you want when you're ill with some kind of mystery virus is a man who hates your guts making cryptic remarks in a worried voice. It really wasn't helping the Spy's mood at all.

'What is it?' he asked in a hoarse voice, 'What are you going on about?'

The Sniper wasn't one for deception. If he was saying something was wrong, that meant something was _wrong_. He wouldn't be making things up just to try and trick or scare his opponent. That was the Spy's job.

The RED didn't answer. He just slide his knife back into its holder and knelt down next to the Frenchman. The Spy flinched when the back of a hand was pressed to his brow, and turned his face away to break the contact.

'Oi, stay still,' the Sniper ordered gruffly. He grabbed hold of the Spy's jaw and peered into his eyes. Behind the orange-tinted aviators, the Spy could see the man's pupils flicking from one of the masked man's eyes to the other as he studied them intently.

'Ger 'off,' the BLU managed, though he didn't have the energy to even try and get himself out of the Sniper's grip. Or at least, he thought he hadn't. But when his enemy pulled his blue tie loose with his spare hand and began to unbutton his shirt, panic shot through the Spy, giving him new strength. He struggled and writhed, shrugging off the fingers scrapping along the third button down.

The Spy's mind was buzzing with shock and fear. He'd never expected this. The Sniper had never showed any sign of wanting to- wanting to do anything like _this._ The Spy had made countless jibes at his enemy over the months, accusing the Sniper of enjoying it far too much when they ended up fighting in close quarters. But really, that had only ever been to make the Australian angry and reckless. He'd never really believed that the Sniper had any kind of interest in him. And he certainly hadn't expected the man to start ripping his clothes off him while he was defenceless.

'Stop wriggling, you little bugger! Stay still, I'm only trying to help.'

The Spy continued to struggle. He really didn't see how _this_ was meant to help him at all. Nails scratched over his skin as the Sniper yanked his blazer and shirt off of his left shoulder. The masked man shivered as cold air reached his burning skin. The sharpshooter pulled at the other side of his clothing to expose his right shoulder, then paused, frowning.

'Nothing... unless...' The grip on the Spy's jaw tightened, pressing his head back against the wall. A moment later he found out why as fingers dug underneath the edge of his mask.

The Spy made a gasping, panicked sound as the fabric was pulled up his neck.

'Calm down, I'm not going to pull the damn thing off, I just need to check!'

He used his grip on the Spy's jaw to drag his head to the left, then the right.

There he found what he was looking for.

'Oh,' the Sniper breathed, 'Oh fuck.'

He let go of the Spy and stood back up to pace the length of the room. The marksman pulled the battered slouch hat off his head and ran his fingers through his hair distractedly. The Spy watched him in exhausted, irritable silence, waiting for some kind of explanation.

'What a bastard. What a bastard,' the Sniper fumed to himself. The BLU felt even more annoyed at that. He hadn't done anything! It was his enemy who was being a bastard, acting all dramatic and secretive and frustrating. For once the Spy really couldn't see any reason for the Australian to be swearing about him.

'Who does that? Who goes to the trouble of doing half the job and then abandons the poor sod to it? That's just rude, that is! Bad practice. Bet it was some young upstart who thinks they can get away with anything now they're immortal!'

It appeared the Sniper wasn't talking about him after all. It also seemed that the Spy might be starting to experience auditory hallucinations of some kind because what the Sniper had just said made even less sense than the rest of this situation.

'Unless...' the sharpshooter stopped pacing and turned to glare at the Frenchman slumped on the floor. 'Perhaps...' He stepped closer and crouched down next to the Spy again. The BLU flinched, afraid the Sniper might decide to continue undressing him.

'Hmm, so, Spy. Let me guess, you've had an unusual encounter with a stranger over the weekend, haven't you? Someone drag you down a dark alleyway? Or jump you in the gents? Or-' a knowing smirk spread across the Sniper's face, 'Or some pretty girl seduced you into bed. Bet it wouldn't take much.'

The Spy started. Though he wouldn't say it was the lady who'd done the seducing, yes he'd certainly had an unusual encounter with her last night. The RED spotted his reaction and let out a bark of laughter.

'Tha's none... none o' your business,' the masked man slurred weakly, sounding like Demoman after a whole truckload of scrumpy, minus the Scottish accent.

'Oh, course not. None of my business at all. I don't care who or what you do in your spare time. But tell me, this strange sheila of yours, she a kinky one? Into, I don't know, biting, maybe?' He made a chomping gesture at his throat with one hand. The Spy raised shaking fingers to the mark on his neck. He had no idea where the RED was going with all this. It had to just be a coincidence that he'd guessed accurately so far, right? Maybe the Sniper had been secretly watching him and this was all some elaborate and nasty trick he was playing on the Spy.

'And her eyes, I bet she had real special looking eyes, right?'

No. There was no way he could have been close enough to tell that. Unless he'd hired the woman and she was in on all of this too.

For some reason the smile had slipped back off of the Sniper's face. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair again, leaving it standing up in places. He shook his head to make it fall back down again and, took of his glasses.

'Kind of like this?'

The Spy had seen the marksman's eyes before of course. As soon as he'd noticed that the Sniper hated being parted from his aviators, the Frenchman had gone out of his way to steal or knock them off of his face. Under the orange tinted glass the man's eyes were nothing remarkable, just a plain old brown, and rather tired looking.

Except... no, that wasn't true. How had he never noticed before? They were an incredible colour. Not a dull old brown, but copper, like the newest and shiniest of pennies. They filled his vision. Mesmerising. The brightest copper eyes.

Then they were gone, hidden away behind sunglasses again. It was as though the sun had shone on the Spy for the first time in years, only to be covered by clouds a moment later. He blinked rapidly, the after image of those strange eyes lingering like they'd been etched into his retinas.

'And let me guess, you don't remember much of that night? Probably think you had a right good old time, but for some reason your memories are all hazy, yeah?'

The BLU gave him a vague, dazed little nod. This was getting scary. Well, scarier. Maybe if he was in less pain and able to really think straight, he'd find flaws in the Sniper's little narrative. But as it stood, everything was matching up disturbingly well.

'How... d' you know? Know, all this?' he asked.

The Australian snorted. 'Call it an educated guess, mate. Now, just got something I'm wondering about. Where did you wake up the next morning?'

'Hotel.' The Spy had woken up there all alone, hadn't he? Then he'd come back to the base. Except the strange thing was, he couldn't remember the journey back at all. And he hadn't been late for the day's work even though that would have been a good two hours drive. Where'd he parked his car? Had he seen his travel bag anywhere that morning? He frowned to himself.

'Maybe not. Can't remember. S' all fu-fuzzy.'

'Ahuh, thought so. 'But the thing is, this isn't normal, you see. This isn't right.' He jabbed a finger towards the Spy's neck. 'You either bite to feed or you bite to change. You don't go pumping someone full of venom when you're just going to abandon them the next day. That's awful behaviour. Just not right. It's like...' he paused to find of an appropriate comparison. 'skinning a rabbit alive. Yeah, you'll get what you want out of it, but you're going to be causing it a hell of a lot of pain for no good reason.'

The Spy thought he must be suffering from more of those auditory hallucinations. The Sniper couldn't be saying anything he thought the man was saying. That'd be insane. He could relate to that rabbit though; the heat bubbling up inside him made it feel a though his skin were about to melt away, one layer at a time.

'Then again, there's some who enjoy it. Some who get a kick out of the taste of their own venom. See, you need to use just a little anyway, if you're feeding. Keeps people pliant and messes with their memories so you're fine to leave them alive. But if you're gonna change them, you need to use all your venom, and repeat the process every few hours until the transformation's complete.

'But this mysterious lady friend of yours, she's flooded you with venom, drained you, and left you to die. Left you to die real slow, bleeding out in that hotel room while the toxins run through you like a wildfire. 'Cept us here at RED and BLU aren't so good at staying dead, are we? Is there any chance you might have woken up in your respawn room this morning?'

The Spy tried to think back to earlier to work out what had really happened, but everything was too muddled and confusing and his head felt like someone had replaced his brain with shards of glass.

'Maybe. Maybe. Don't know. Don't understand. Anything.' There was a pause while the Frenchman swallowed and tried to pull his thoughts back together. He couldn't, they were scattered to the wind like funeral ashes. The more he tried to pull them together, the more he was left with just one fact. 'It hurts,' the Spy admitted. 'Everything hurt.' He expected the Sniper to mock him for showing weakness in front of an enemy. Instead he just sighed and rubbed at tired eyes beneath his glasses.

'Yeah, I bet it does, mate.' His words were heavy and sincere, not sarcastic like the Spy was used to. 'It must have taken a long while for you to die, else respawn would have fixed you up. But it didn't, meaning it left you with just one dose of venom in you. And that's not enough. It's changing you, but slowly. Too slowly. It's killing you and respawn doesn't know how to handle this so... Honestly? I don't know what's gonna happen in the end if you don't get help. Respawn will keep on bringing you back, but you'll end up too sick to live. So I guess you'll just keep on dying and dying and dying until someone shows you some mercy and takes you out of respawn all together.'

'Know just what to say to cheer me up, don't you?' the Spy joked weakly. Very little of what the Sniper was saying had sunk in yet. It was just too strange. Too impossible. Too cliché. This grim future he'd laid out for the Spy though... to die in burning pain again and again, the cruel parody of a phoenix... it would be something worse than hell on earth.

'Guess you're to have to get used to...' the Spy lost his train of thought mid-sentence and went groping after it with a frown. 'To fighting a new spy. Might not go as easy on you as I do.'

The Sniper snorted derisively and looked away from him. 'Yeah. I could do that. I could just do that, leave you here and have a nice break from the backstabbing until they give up on trying to save you and get a new spook in.' He sounded wistful. Tempted. 'Bet that's what you'd do if you were in my situation.'

The Spy didn't have the strength to argue back. Not that he really understood what the Sniper's 'situation' was anyway.

The RED turned back to look him up and down. The Spy was a wreck, his skin looked practically grey now, his mask was soaked to navy from sweat and shudders ran down his whole body every few seconds.

'Urgh. Of all the people though, why did it have to be you?' The Sniper shuffled reluctantly closer as he spoke, making the Spy cringe away. 'Oi, stop that. I don't want to be doing this anymore than you, trust me. I've been doing just fine nicking supplies from Medic; I haven't had to get all close and personal like this with a real person for months. God, I hate doing this. All the contact and heat and urgh. Now if you were a pretty looking lady, maybe it wouldn't be so bad. But no, you're the bloody BLU Spy of all people. Christ, I just can't get a break, can I?'

It was almost a relief to hear the Sniper go back to insulting him. Almost. This was actually the most the Spy had ever heard him say at one time. In fact, it was probably more than he'd ever heard from the guy in all the months they'd been fighting each other combined.

Once the sharpshooter had pulled himself right up to the Spy's left side, he said, 'Right. Um. This is gonna take some, you know, _touching_. Just got to work out how I'm gonna do this.' His hands hovered awkwardly over the Spy, who couldn't bring himself to do anything but glare miserably at his enemy. Who, if the Frenchman's eyes weren't playing tricks on him, was starting to look rather flushed around the cheeks. In fact, he appeared to have gone bright red.

'Okay, so, um, just don't move, okay? Just stay still. This, uh, is gonna hurt a bit but I'm not actually, gonna be taking any, you know. No blood. I mean, who knows what diseases you've got?'

He leant in towards the Spy hesitantly, aiming for the left side of his neck, but then pulled away again.

'No, that wont work. Angle's all wrong. My face would just end up all pressed against the wall. I'll have to, uh, excuse me...'

It was a pity the Spy wasn't in any state to mock the Sniper, because he was currently acting like a flustered schoolboy going in for his first kiss. Though perhaps that wasn't the most welcome of comparisons, considering it was the Spy himself that the Australian was going for.

This time he leant across the BLU's chest and moved a hand to the other side of the Spy so he could rest his weight on it. He put his other hand under the masked man's chin.

'Shit, you're hot.'

The Spy managed a snort of laughter at that.

'I didn't mean it like that, and you know it!' He pushed the Frenchman's head back with more force than was really necessary and muttered, 'Bloody spook,' as he tipped his head to one side to get to the man's throat.

There was a brief sensation of teeth scraping against skin, then a sharp stab of pain. The Spy flinched and screwed his eyes up tight as a fresh wave of heat swept through him. It was like someone had replaced all his blood with petrol and then pressed a lit match against his neck. The BLU's breathing had been ragged before, but now it turned to uneven, gasping breaths as the burning spread through his lungs. He pushed at the Sniper's chest with trembling hands too weak to budge the marksman even an inch. The RED gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze but didn't stop.

It seemed an age before the Sniper finally pulled away, wiping a sleeve across his face to get rid of spit and blood. He pretended, for the Spy's sake, not to notice the tear tracks visible despite his mask, or the quiet sobbing noises he was making. The Sniper didn't know how to handle this situation. He remembered how agonising his own transformation had been, despite being handled properly and with his consent. But how did you go about comforting an enemy? Especially one with whom you shared a mutual loathing?

Despite hating both physical contact and the Spy, he found himself reaching an arm around the back of the BLU, coaxing him into clumsy hug. For a moment the Frenchman tried to resist, before giving up and slumping against the Sniper. The marksman patted him on back awkwardly, muttering instinctive reassurances like his mother used to do to when he was upset as a small child. He expected the Spy to pull himself away after a minute with a sneer and an insult. It was testament to just how much pain he must be in that all the BLU seemed able to do was to clutch at the Sniper's vest and cry. But he knew from personal experience that there became a point at which pain overrode all sense of shame or dignity.

The sharpshooter had no idea how this would all look if someone else were to come barging into his roost, but the distant sounds of gunfire and explosions assured him that the fighting had moved on without them.

After a while the Spy's breathing steadied, but he made no attempt to move away from the Sniper.

'Uh, Spy?' This whole holding his enemy in his arms thing was making him feel pretty uncomfortable.

'Spy?' Was he dead? No, he was definitely still breathing.

'Spy? Ah. Shit.' He was asleep. The Spy was asleep. In the Sniper's arms. Fucking hell. Now how would he explain _that_ if any of his team mates happened to pass through this way back to join in the fighting? Or was it the other team that had pushed forward? He couldn't think of any good way of explaining to a BLU why he was embracing their Spy, or why the guy was sleeping on the job.

Except it was less that the masked man had fallen asleep, and more that he'd simply passed out from a mixture of intense exhaustion, stress, pain and toxins. It was probably for the best that he remained that way for now; any amount of the change that he could pass unconscious would be a blessing. The Sniper would probably have to bite him three or four more times over the course of the day, and it could be up to a week before the changes settled down entirely.

'Uh, lets just put you down, shall we?' the marksman muttered to himself as he shifted the Spy's weight as carefully as he could. He laid the unconscious man out on his side, and leant back against the wall next to him.

Really, the Sniper would've liked to go and join in the fighting; he hated being useless and his team weren't getting any help from him in here. But he couldn't leave the Spy. Couldn't abandon him to wake up alone and burning from the inside all over again.

Really though, why did it have to be the BLU Spy? Of all the people in the entire world, why him? Life was certainly going to be a lot more complicated from now on, and the Sniper would have to be the one who was there to guide the masked man through all of this. They were both going to come to resent that, he was sure.

As well as that, they were going to have an added difficulty. Not only would they have to keep the Spy hidden from the humans, they were going to have to keep him secret from their kind too. Because the thing was, turning someone without permission from the council? That wasn't allowed. That wasn't allowed at all. But that BLU was used to keeping secrets anyway. This would just be another to add to the list.

All the same, the Sniper couldn't help but worry. In all likeness they would be fine, but if they were ever found out... perhaps then he'd find himself thinking that letting the Spy die would've been the most merciful thing to do.

 _Nah, I think they'll be all right. Besides, Spy can go invisible._

 _So that's Sanguine all wrapped up. Maybe one day I'll revisit these guys and see how they are getting along. Or more likely, not getting along._

 _I don't usually add this sort of comment, but I haven't had any reviews at all for this story on FF and only three on AO3 so I'm not really sure how this stories been received, and if I should try more like this in the future or just stick to my usual stuff. So if you've got any thoughts or comments, including constructive criticism, I'd be happy to read them. I'd be especially interested to know which ending people liked best._


End file.
